Team Fortress 2 High School AU
by wolverinedoctorwho
Summary: Sorry for generic title. IDK why there's a limit for 4 characters bc there's a lot in there lol. Basically mercs are students, Pauling's a counselor/drama teacher, Administrator's headmaster, Bidwell's the janitor, and Overwatch mercs are teachers. Hilarity ensues. PM me ideas pls
1. Chapter 1

((Hey peeps, smee again. I got someone on tumblr asking if I would consider doing a sequel of ODFP, and while there are a couple of reasons I can't at the moment [lack of comics coming out and lack of chapter ideas], I've had the first four chapters of this sitting around since ODFP was finished, and I figure it's high time that gets uploaded. This is all I have so far, I've got a few ideas of where I want this to go, but any ideas/suggestions in my PMs would be a big help. I'm on summer break so I've got a crap load of time on my hands.

A few things about this fic: It is a high school AU, so they're all younger, more immature, and Spy isn't Scout's dad. There's also a lot more accent stuff in here. And a few things that probably won't jive with the comics. But, hey, it's an AU!

There are also Overwatch characters in here so that I don't have to make up a crap ton of different teachers. I apologize if any of them are out-of-character. I've watched the Overwatch videos and read the comics (as well as a fair bit of fics), so I should be pretty alright, but if I'm not don't hurt me pls. :)

So, yeah, enjoy!))

* * *

"Alright," the purple-clad teacher groaned. "Let's try this again."

She adjusted her glasses, cleared her throat, and started reading from her clipboard.

"Dell Conagher?"

"Here," a resigned Southern voice replied. The boy who raised his hand was a short, squarish figure with a pair of goggles around his neck. He was leaning back in his chair, a set of blueprints on his desk.

"Tavish de Groot?"

"Aye," a weary voice answered. The dark-skinned boy who replied looked ill. He had commandeered the trashcan and was holding it on his lap. A dark knit cap sat low on his head, almost covering the deep bags under his eyes.

"John Doe?"

"That's _Jane_ Doe, lady! That's my name and I am _proud of it!_ " The screaming boy's helmet shook back and forth on his head as he screamed at the teacher. He had hardly taken it off since he started school. He wore his school uniform with the crispness of a soldier.

"Please stop screaming indoors," the teacher said, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

"Mikhail...B...Bb-"

"Вынести. Misha." a heavy Russian boy cut in. He shifted awkwardly in his desk, which he barely fit into. He was digging around in his bag, eventually pulling out a large sandwich. He grinned triumphantly, chuckling.

"Right. Misha Vynesti. Don't make a mess with that sandwich.

Pierre Revenant?"

"Oui," a sarcastic French accent cut in. A tall boy leaned against the back of the room, a hand posed over his face. He had a cigarette tucked behind his ear, and seemed to be waiting for the teacher to leave so he could smoke it.

"Josef Ludwig?"

"Hier," a sharp voice called out from the corner of the room. The bespectacled boy seemed to be annoyed that he was even here, and had his nose buried in a medical textbook. He pulled his jacket around him as the rest of the boys stared at him.

"Mick Mundy?"

"Yeh," an Australian boy with dark aviators muttered. He was half falling asleep, half wondering what kind of trajectory he'd have to get to get a spitball in the teacher's low-cut top. He'd taken off his cowboy hat like the teacher had asked him to, but he had refused to remove his sunglasses, which was part of what had gotten him in here.

"Jeremy Rodgers?"

"Here, but you can call me the love a'ya life." His Bostonian accent cut through the room, causing the teacher to glare. He gave her a shit-eating grin, and any onlooker would have noticed the struggle the teacher went through to keep from rolling her eyes.

"And...you." The teacher walked over to a thin boy, who had kept his head down on the desk and hadn't spoken the entire time. He didn't look up, even when the teacher tapped him on the shoulder. After a few minutes with no response, she gave up, sighing.

"Alright. Everyone's here. Now, you all know why you're here. I shouldn't have to explain anything to you. This is detention. You can study, you can sleep, the school doesn't really care. As long as you don't set anything on fire, blow anything up, or kill anyone, or drink or smoke or break any more school rules than you have already, you can do whatever you want. I'll be right outside, doing some paperwork. Don't get too loud, and you won't see my face for two hours."

With that, she turned and walked out of the room, ignoring the whistles Jeremy made at her.

"Man, I hate it when she leaves, but I love watching her go."

"Don't you ever stop flirting with women who are way out of your league?" Pierre asked.

"Hey, shut it, pretty boy," Jeremy cut back.

"So, what're you in here for?" Dell asked Jane. The rougher boy scoffed. "Something about 'acceptance' and 'not making fun of other people for being different' and all that hippie talk."

"You yelled at the ESL kids again, didn't you?" Dell sighed. "You've gotta stop doing that."

"Stop doing what? Fighting for the American way?"

Dell slapped his forehead as Jane started going into a long rant about truth, justice, and the American way.

"Is you okay?" Misha asked Tavish in broken English. Tavish looked up from his bucket wearily, smiling a little at the Russian boy.

"I'll be alrigh'. Jus' a little hungova, tha's all," he moaned before leaning back into his bucket to throw up.

"Why are you here?" Misha asked, trying to keep the conversation going. Tavish scoffed.

"Teachers caugh' me drinkin Everclear in one o'tha bathrooms. I'was worth i', though!" He chuckled.

"And you?" Misha asked Mick. The Australian played with his sunglasses. "I wouldn't take these off in class. Bloody wanka Mr. McCree kept trying ta take 'em off me."

"Aye, 'e's a arse," Tavish agreed.

"Well, maybe if you were not trying to sleep so much during his lessons," Pierre cut in. Mick glared at him. "Sod off. I bet you're in here for samthing stupid too."

Pierre rolled his eyes. "If you must know, they gave me detention for trying to sneak into restricted areas of the school."

"And why tha bloody 'ell were ya trying ta do that?" Mick asked. Pierre shrugged. "I wanted to see if I could get away with it."

He turned to Dell and Jane, his voice cutting off Jane's rant. "And you two? What are you _hommes_ in here for?"

"He bullied the ESL kids," Dell explained, pointing to Jane. "They got me for stealing tools from the metalworking room. I've been working on this robot lately, and I was trying to get some new parts for it, but-"

"Yes, yes, very interesting," Pierre interrupted. He turned to Josef, who was still in his book. "What about you, _tête de livre_?"

Josef glared up at them. "I vas in the middle of trying out my latest experiment on reviving ze dead, und ze biology teacher valked in on me! He said zhat vhat I vas doing vas "Cruel and unusual treatment of animals" und sent me here."

"Reviving the dead?" Dell asked, suddenly very interested.

" _Doch_ ," Josef replied. "I vas experimenting vith some of zhe pigeons around zhe school. No human mistreatment vhatsoever."

"Say, I've been thinking about a machine like what you're talking about-"

"And you, Michelle?" Pierre asked Misha, cutting off Dell once again. Misha glared at him. "Name is Misha. I did nothing."

Mick scoffed. "You must've done samthin to get yerself in here."

Misha shook his head, a sad expression coming over his face. "Two boys fight. I stop the fighting. And they thought was me because I am stronger than teenie baby boys."

Tavish patted him on the back.

"Hey," Jeremy called from behind Dell. "Ain't ya gonna ask me how I got here?"

" _Ne sais pas, ne se soucient pas_ ," Pierre said. Josef nodded in agreement. Jeremy glared.

"I dunno what you just said, but screw you, I'm talkin' anyway. So I'm playin this game'a ball with the guys in the sandpit, and I hit this wicked homer-I'm talking high up-and it breaks right through the headmaster's window, and I mean shatters it. And she sticks her head out and starts yelling 'If I find you kids, I'm gonna wring your goddamn necks!' And we just book it out of there, man, faster than light, except Yuri, cause he's heavier and not as fast. And one of the teachers runs out and grabs him, and he starts screaming, 'It was Jeremy! It was Jeremy! Please don't take me!' And they drop him and chase me for what feels like forever, man, and then one of 'em finally jumps me and takes me down. That's how I got this," he pointed to a bruise on his cheek, "and that's how I got here."

The room was silent for a few seconds.

"I feel like I've lost some of my brain cells," Pierre groaned.

"Ye jast gave me me 'eadache back, Scoot," Tavish gagged.

"The headmistress did _not_ say she was 'going to wring your goddamn necks'," Dell scoffed.

"Zhat was zhe most ridiculous story I have ever heard," Josef said, rolling his eyes.

"I have heard some far-fetched stories in my day, kid, but that just might be the worst," Jane agreed.

"Is probably fake story made to make leetle Jeremy look bigger," Misha nodded.

"My mam can tell better stories than that," Mick snorted.

"Alright then, screw you guys. What about him?" Jeremy pointed to the nameless boy at the front of the room. "How do you think _he_ got here?"

The room was silent once again, this time in contemplation. Nobody really knew who the boy in the front of the room was, but they had all heard horrible things about him.

"I heard he set a teacher on fire."

"I thought it was a student?"

"I have seen him sneaking around zhe flammable material in zhe science lab…"

"I fear no boy. But that one...he scares me."

"I dinnae think I've seen 'im in any of me classes."

"I admit I have tried to follow him, but he's untraceable."

"He's a right spook, sneakin' around tha school with 'is face hidden."

The entire room looked over at the mysterious boy.

"And nobody knows his name?" Jeremy asked. Everyone shook their heads. The younger boy sighed, then suddenly turned on his heel and walked over to the boy. Everyone else reacted with various levels of fear and warning, and Dell tried to grab Jeremy, but he was too fast. He stopped in front of the silent boy and gave him a hard tap on the shoulder. He had to shake the boy, as he'd somehow managed to fall asleep.

The boy who looked up at him made Jeremy jump back. He had on a hoodie that covered his head, a dark pair of goggles that blacked out his eyes, and a bandana over his mouth that obscured the lower half of his face. The parts of the boy's face that Jeremy could see were pale and covered in scars.

The boy said something, but the volume at which he said it and the bandana over his face muffled his voice to an indecipherable level. He turned to the other boys, waving sleepily. He pulled a lighter out of his pocket and flicked it on, staring at the flame.

"You might wanna turn that off before the teacher comes in and sees you," Jeremy said nervously. The boy shrugged and turned off the lighter, putting it back in his pocket. He stretched out his arms, his hands covered by woolen gloves. He stood up, paced back and forth in the front of the class, and then sat down next to Dell. Dell stiffened a little, but didn't move. The boy seemed fairly harmless. The boy mumbled something, and Dell realized he could actually understand what they boy was saying.

"He said to call him Ignis, and he accidentally set the desk in his room on fire with a candlestick."

"You can understand him?" Pierre asked. Dell nodded, shrugging. "Dunno how."

Josef stretched, setting his book down. He pulled out a stack of papers and put them on his desk.

"What papers?" Misha asked. Josef glared at him. "I figure, since ve are stuck in here for a few hours, I might as vell do my homework. Zere ist no point in sitting around, twlittling our zumbs until Ms. Pauling releases us for dinner."

Misha stared at him.

"Vat? You never bothered to ask her name?" Josef asked, incredulous. Misha shrugged. "They yell too much. I do not listen."

Josef rolled his eyes. He turned to his papers, only to raise his eyebrows when he saw Misha struggle out of his desk and walk over with his own bag.

"Vat? Do you vant me to do your homework as vell?" Josef almost snarled. Misha shook his head vigorously, pulling his homework out of his bag and placing it on the desk next to Josef's.

"Help me. Please."

Josef stared at the papers. Misha was in the science level below him, so just doing his homework would have been easy for Josef. But Misha wanted to be helped instead?

"Vat do you need help vith?" Josef sighed.

"Oi, looks like the nerd's doin' his homework," Mick chuckled, shaking his head over to Josef and Misha. Pierre rolled his eyes. "But of course. We should all have our homework out. I see you have nothing to work on."

Mick scoffed. "Course not. The stuff I've got's not due till Friday."

"It is Wednesday."

"So? I can do it tomorrow."

Pierre sighed. "Procrastinator."

"I don't see you doin' any work!"

"Zat's because I have someone to do it for me."

"Wot, sam servant or samthin?"

"No. A student who does not want his secrets revealed on the Commons cork-board."

"Yer _blackmailin'_ kids?" Tavish interjected, pulling his head out of his bucket. Pierre shrugged with one shoulder.

"That's no way to learn anything," Dell scolded.

"Zen where is _your_ homework?" Pierre bit back.

"Did it in class," Dell admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. Jane clapped him on the back. "That's more like it! Show those foreigners who's boss!"

Dell sighed, rolled his eyes, and went back to his blueprints, only to find Ignis staring at him. "You need something?"

Ignis pushed a couple of papers onto his desk. Dell looked them over, looked up at Ignis' hopeful expression, and smiled. "Alright."

Jeremy tried to get someone to help him with his homework, but Pierre and Mick were too busy trading insults about who was better at schoolwork, Tavish was too busy either falling asleep or puking, and Jane started giving him a lecture on why American history was the only history they should be learning when he tried to ask him. Eventually he sat down near Josef and Misha, who were working quietly.

Josef had learned quickly that, while Misha was big and didn't talk much, he was a quick learner when things were explained to him thoroughly. Also, he was fantastic at math. There was something about the Russian's brain that made large numbers a sinch. They were done with his homework in half an hour, and Misha even helped Josef with some of the math on his Statistics homework.

On the other side of the room, Dell was finding out that doing homework with a person who didn't communicate well was no easy task. Ignis was pretty horrible with most subjects other than English, and eventually Dell had to give up on trying to teach him basic algebra to preserve his own sanity. He took the papers from Ignis and scribbled down the answers in a few seconds, ignoring the smug look Pierre gave him.

As they entered the second hour, it started to rain outside. A loud crash of thunder woke Jeremy up, and made Mick jump in his chair.

"Scared of thunder, Australian?" Pierre sneered. Mick glared at him.

"I ain't. Just startled." Mick pulled the jacket of his school uniform around himself tightly, glaring at the French boy. Pierre snickered. "Worried you'll melt?"

"Course not. Just worried the rain'll ruin your perfect hair."

Pierre scoffed, running a hand through his dirty blond hair. It was slicked back so tightly it was almost part of his scalp. "It would be a shame to ruin such a perfect look," he said in all seriousness. Mick rolled his eyes. "You're full've it."

"It? If, by _it_ , you mean charm, grace, and brains, then maybe you aren't such an idiot after all."

Mick's eyes almost rolled into his skull. Sure, maybe the French prick was kind of attractive, but he didn't have to be such a prick about it.

Another crash of thunder made Mick jump again, and this time he climbed out of his chair, walking over to the window. He was tall and lanky due to a recent growth spurt, and was easily one of the tallest people in the room. Pierre found himself staring for just a few seconds too long for his own taste, and quickly redirected his attention to the sleepy Jeremy.

"Aw, man, is it raining?" The younger boy jumped up, meeting Mick at the window. "Crap. That means I can't play ball tomorrow."

"No woodshop," Misha noted, disappointed. Dell took one look at the window and sighed deeply. "Boy, am I glad I brought those prototypes inside after Mechanics today." He leaned back in his chair.

Josef watched Misha look at his watch, then the clock on the wall. He reached into his bag and pulled out yet another sandwich.

"Whaddaya think they're having for dinner tonight?" Jeremy asked, walking back over and sitting down. Josef shrugged, a little surprised to be addressed by the jock.

"I just hope it's not zat awful stew zey had ze ozer night," he shrugged.

"The one that made the cafeteria smell like it was on fire? Yeah, I'm with ya on dat one." Jeremy nodded affirmatively.

Ignis poked his head up at the word "fire". Dell snorted, shaking his head. "I eat whatever they put in front of me."

" _Qui est péniblement évident_ ," Pierre muttered under his breath. Mick gave him a look. "Wot, like you've got some fancy cooks or samthin' to cook your meals?"

Pierre shook his head. "Of course not. I make my own lunch."

"Is in homely economics," Misha added. Mick laughed. "Of course. I can see it now. You in your fancy apron, sittin' in front of the stove, waitin' for your husband to come home. 'Good afternoon, sweetie. Do you want to eat your dinner first, or would you rather have me?'" He burst out into inappropriate laughter. Pierre went bright red.

"At least I make an effort to take care of myself, instead of walking around in a filthy uniform and making filthier jokes!"

"At least I'm not sam pansy neat-freak who irons his suit twenty times a day!"

"At least I don't go around pissing in jars!"

"THAT WAS ONE TIME!" Mick screamed, leaping at Pierre. He grabbed the French boy by the collar and pulled back a hand to his his face, only for Pierre to strike first. The two quickly dissolved into a nasty brawl, only to stop when Tavish stood up and started yelling.

"Could ya shut the bloody 'ell up? Some've us are tryin' ta sleep in 'ere! I can't ruddy _think_ with you two goin' at it! Now stop it before you get us all in trouble!"

Pierre and Mick looked around at the other boys, who were staring at them with a mixture of shock and annoyance. They looked at each other, a little surprised that they had given in to fighting so easily. They moved to sit on opposite sides of the classroom, Pierre brushing his uniform off, Mick adjusting his sunglasses. They were both silent for the rest of detention.

As they neared the last half an hour, Dell stretched his arms and stood up, packing his blueprints and work away. He walked to the front of the classroom and paced back and forth, looking at the clock every few seconds.

"Time von't pass any faster by pacing," Josef said, a little annoyed. The pacing was driving him crazy. Dell just shrugged, walking back to his desk.

"How much longer do you have detention?" He asked, sitting down. Josef sighed. "All veek. Und you?"

Dell shrugged. "Probably the same. What about you, Misha?"

Misha shrugged back. "Did not say."

"I think I'm in here all week, too," Jeremy agreed, but he was ignored by most of the room. Ignis muttered something to Dell, who nodded. "Alright. Tavish?"

"Aye. I've got all week 'ere too."

"Same here," Jane grumbled, shaking his head as if to say, "Can you believe it?"

Pierre and Mick nodded from their sides of the room.

"Alright. Then we're in here all week. Might as well think'a something to do tomorrow. Any ideas?"

The room was silent. Jeremy put up a hand, but put it down when he saw everyone glaring at him. Dell sighed. Well, he'd tried.

"So, I guess we just sit in here and wait for the week to be over," he said boredly.

The room was quiet for the rest of detention. Finally, mercifully, Ms. Pauling came in at exactly two hours. "Alright. You're dismissed. Go to your dorms and clean up for dinner."

The crowd of boys almost ran out of the room, bumping into each other as they hurried to escape detention. Mick crashed into Josef, sending him sprawling on the floor. "Sorry!" he yelled, leaning down to help the smaller boy. Josef glared up at him at first, but then softened once he looked at Mick's face. He was a remarkable specimen, and Josef was glad he didn't blush as he took Mick's hand and pulled himself upward. Mick grabbed his books, which had gone flying when Josef fell over, and held them out. "There ya are. Safe and sound."

"Try not to knock me over tomorrow," Josef said, pretending to be annoyed. Mick nodded sheepishly.

The nine boys were enrolled in one of the most notorious military schools for boys in America, Teufort Academy. It was one of the few schools in the US that accepted applicants from outside the country, and it had a very strategic admissions system. Students had to come from families with mercenary backgrounds, or have high potential for military/mercenary work. Through a rigorous background check and numerous callbacks, students were selected based on their high potential. The school was infamous for raising some of the most violent soldiers, snipers, engineers, spies, demolitions mechanics, reconnaissancers, weapons technicians, battle medics, and pyromaniacs of the century.

Each boy had their own bed in their dorm rooms, and each dorm room had nine beds. Not all of the boys shared a room (Jeremy and Ignis were a grade below most of them and Josef was a grade above most of them), but those who did had somehow managed to avoid getting to know each other before now. Pierre and Mick were surprised to find that they shared the same room, especially since their beds were on opposite sides of the room. Jane and Tavish had already met, and had beds right next to one another. Ignis shared a room with Jeremy, much to the louder boy's chagrin. Josef's room was across the hall from Misha's, and Misha shared a room with Dell.

While they were busy getting ready for dinner, Ms. Pauling stepped into the headmistress' office with a nervous frown and a clipboard.

"Good afternoon, Headmistress," Ms. Pauling said. The Headmistress was seated at her desk, facing the large window that let light into her office. It was broken in the middle, and the shattered glass had just been cleaned off the floor an hour ago. A large blue tarp was hung over what was left of the window, so it was unclear what, exactly, the Headmistress was staring at.

"Pauling. You're here about your drama club again. Spit it out."

"We...still haven't found anyone willing to audition…"

"Then I suppose your efforts were all for nought, weren't they?" The Headmistress spat. "If you cannot find any members for your production, then there is nothing I can do. Your play is toast. Good day."

"Wait!" Ms. Pauling objected, stepping forward and placing her hands on the desk. "Please, Headmistress. A play would be perfect for letting some of these boys express themselves. And it would look great on their college applications! We could even put it on our fliers and start attracting more artistic students!"

"Have you forgotten what kind of school this is, _Miss_ Pauling? This is _not_ a charter school for young actors. This is a _private military academy_ for students who plan on spending their whole lives _killing other people_. If you can't accept that, then you can just go back to your art room and do some _fingerpainting_." A thin plume of smoke slithered out from the Headmistress' lips, and Ms. Pauling tried not to cough at the obvious smell of tobacco. She gripped the desk with tight fingers.

"What about the boys in detention? Could we force them to do the play as part of their punishment?"

"Why would I care about a bunch of delinquents?"

"That's my point, Headmistress! They have nothing better to do, they're not our best and brightest students, half of them can't _read_! They're the ones who need something like this on college applications!"

"Again with the applications. They _don't need_ to polish their resumes, Pauling."

"Not even Jeremy Rodgers?"

" _Who?_ "

"Jeremy Rodgers, Headmistress. One of the boys in detention this week. He's the one who broke your window."

The Headmistress spun around, and Ms. Pauling tried not to flinch at the look of hungry victory in her eyes.

"Very well, Ms. Pauling. You may use these delinquents for your project, provided they do not get themselves into more trouble in the process. What play are you doing?"

" _And Then There Were None_ , Headmistress."

"Does it have any female parts?"

"Three, Headmistress."

" _Excellent._ "

As the Headmistress grinned at her, Ms. Pauling felt a chill run down her spine, and couldn't help but feel as if she'd just made a deal with the devil.


	2. Chapter 2

((If anyone's wondering why And Then There Were None factors heavily into the plot of this play, I was in a production of the play while writing the first four chapters of this. I was Vera Claythorne and my SO was Phillip Lombard. The play is not how we met, but it's how we got to know each other, so that's cute. Anyway, yeah, spoilers for And Then There Were None if you haven't seen the play. The twist is basically the same as the book, but the play has a few tweaks. It's old, but I figured I'd warn you guys just in case. ;) ))

* * *

"Wot on earth is _sat?_ " Mick asked, raising an eyebrow at Pierre's oddly-coloured bowl of soup as the French boy flounced down across the table from him.

"Some actual food. Perhaps you should try it for once," Pierre replied cooly, setting the bowl down in front of him.

"That ain't food, mate," Mick said. "I think I see _skin_ in there."

"Zat is _onion_ , 'mate'. "

"It still looks gross."

"Zen don't look at it."

"Yer the one sittin' in front'a me. Why don't ya sit somewhere else?"

"Why don't you?"

"Because I was 'ere first."

"Do you zink zat stopped ze Europeans from invading America?" Pierre asked blandly. Mick glared at him.

"Are you always such an arse?"

"Only when in ze presence of zose whose annoyance I find enjoyable," Pierre said triumphantly.

"Enjoyable, eh? Wot about this?" Mick stood up quickly, grabbing Pierre's soup and dumping it all over the French boy, who yelped as he was doused with hot soup. Pierre shot up as well, grabbing Mick's sandwich and lunging over the table. The rest of the boys in the cafeteria spun around to watch as the two boys devolved into a scuffle on the floor, grabbing food from wherever they could reach and splattering it on each other. Misha lept up as Pierre grabbed a handful of his dinner and flung it at Mick's face, and the Russian started throwing food as well. Jeremy, seizing his opportunity for some fun, grabbed a fork and started batting meatballs at Pierre. Jane ran in to try to curb the fighting, but just ended up beating people with his fists. Tavish figured out how to slingshot packed balls of rice on a fork so that they would explode into a cloud of rice when they hit their intended target. Dell and Josef started trying to curb the mess, with Dell building a fortress out of trays and napkins and Josef trying to clean up anyone who got near him. The cafeteria around them became a swirling vortex of observers, either egging them on or begging them to stop. The noise rose to an uncomfortable level, and Ignis, already at the edge of the cafeteria, moved backwards towards the door, covering his ears and not paying attention to where he was going.

"STUDENTS!"

Ignis crashed into whoever was behind him, and he yelped, diving out of the way as Mr. Winston, the large, intimidating biology teacher, marched towards the group of fighting boys, pulling them all apart. A couple of other teachers came up behind him, and they focused on separating the boys and holding them back. Pierre and Mick were still screaming slurs at one another when Ms. Lacroix pulled them apart, scolding Pierre in his native tongue with a harsh glare on her face. Mick was sure he saw Pierre wince as he looked into his teacher's dark eyes. He had no idea what she was saying, but he almost felt a little sorry for his attacker.

All eight boys were carried upstairs, and one-by-one they washed off, changed into a clean uniform, and were escorted into the headmistress' office to explain themselves. They all stood in a line, glaring at each other.

"Look what you've done now, bushboy. You've gotten us all in trouble."

"You were the one bein' a bloody arse."

"Yeah, can it, Frenchie. Youse the one dat jumped 'im."

"I simply do not understand vhy ve vere pulled in as vell. I vas only trying to help."

"Ah suppose it's 'cause you were runnin' around, slappin' everyone with paper towels."

"Is not fair. We should not be punished for leetle boy's fighting."

"Oi, last I checked, you were fightin' too. We all were, aye?"

"THERE IS NO POINT IN HAVING US ALL HERE IF THEY WERE THE ONES FIGHTING."

"Enough!"

The row went silent as the Headmistress walked into the room, walking through the line of boys and standing in front of her desk. She stared each boy down, and (with the exception of Jeremy) their anger was replaced with admiration or fear. The Headmistress drummed her long nails on the edges of her heavy desk, gathering her thoughts. She grinned as the boys grew more nervous with each passing second of silent tension.

"I'm sure you are all aware that this most recent infraction will have an effect on your current detention sentence. You have all added three weeks of detention onto your sentence."

The boys groaned, and some of them tried to argue. Three weeks of detention? For one cafeteria fight? Some of them hadn't even been fighting! She raised a hand, and the group fell silent.

"If you are not interested in serving three extra weeks of detention, then I have a proposition for you."

The boys perked up, and she leaned in.

"For the last few weeks, Ms. Pauling has been trying to compile a group of students for a certain...pet project of hers. If you would be willing to...help her in her endeavors, I would concede to revoking your entire detention sentence. You would spend the rest of your sentence working on Ms. Pauling's project, and upon its completion would be allowed to resume your normal school schedule, as if you had never been put away at all."

Most of the boys reacted to this proposition with acceptance, but Pierre raised an eyebrow. "What exactly is zis...project?"

The Headmistress smiled. "Oh, nothing you won't be able to handle, Mr. Revenant. Only a small acting performance."

"Actin' performance?" Dell asked. "You mean like a play?"

The Headmistress nodded, and suddenly the positive reaction became negative.

"I ain't doin' no gay-ass play!" Jeremy interjected, his voice louder than the rest. The Headmistress turned to face him, her eyes burning with hatred. "I suppose you would rather be expelled for your delinquency, Mr. Rodgers."

Jeremy went pale as a ghost, backing up. "Woah woah woah, I didn't mean that! Dis play sounds like a great idea! Who's with me?" He laughed nervously as all the other boys looked at him like he was crazy. The Headmistress smiled, showing off all her teeth, and another wave of fear ran through the room like a cat. She stood up to full height.

"Then I suppose we are all in agreement. Excellent. I look forward to seeing your performance."

The boys were escorted out of the office, and the Headmistress sat back down in front of her tarped window, chuckling to herself and lighting a cigarette.

Ignis was already sitting on his bed when Jeremy walked into the room, yanking his tie off and throwing it against the wall with disgust. "Man, screw the Headmistress! Always bossin' everybody around like she runs the place."

"She does," A tired voice rang out from one of the bunks.

"Go to sleep," another pleaded.

"Screw you guys," Jeremy said, climbing up into his top bunk. Ignis tried to avoid the taller boy's gaze, laying down in bed and covering his face. Jeremy, being the boy he was, didn't even notice the loner's nervousness.

The next day after class, all nine boys met back up in the detention room. Ignis sat in the very back of the room as the other eight talked about their theatrical punishment. He tried to will everyone to look away from him, but one by one their eyes all flicked over to where he was sitting. He pulled his hoodie over his head until his entire face was obscured, and eventually he felt them all look away.

Ms. Pauling walked in the room, holding a box of thin books. She almost tripped, but managed to keep her balance, clumsily dropping the box down on her desk. "Alright! Everyone grab a script!"

A wave of grumbles swept through the room, but eventually everyone but Ignis had a script. Ms. Pauling opened hers up to the first page, looking around the room.

"Ok. Tavish, you read for Justice Wargrave. Pierre, you do Captain Lombard. Josef, I want you to do Doctor Armstrong. John-"

"JANE!"

"-you read for General MacKenzie. Misha, you read for Mrs. Brent. We'll make it Mr. Brent for you, if that's ok. Dell, you read for Mr. Rodgers, and Mick, you do Mr. Blore."

"Wadda'bout me?" Jeremy called. Ms. Pauling sighed.

"You read for Anthony Marston, Jeremy."

"What about Ignis?"

"Who?" Ms. Pauling looked at Dell with a raised eyebrow. He pointed to the back of the room. Ignis pulled his hoodie tight as he felt everyone's gaze sliding back to him like a laser beam. Ms. Pauling walked to the back of the room and tried to hand him a script, but he wouldn't take his hands off of his hoodie. She sighed, placing the script on his desk and walking back to the front of the room. She looked towards the door of the room, but nobody came in. "I'll read the rest of the parts, don't worry. We'll find people. I found you guys, right?"

" _Trouvé, ou asservi?_ " Pierre muttered under his breath. Josef elbowed him.

"Alright. Let's start on page one. I'll read for Naracott and Mrs. Rodgers."

Suddenly, the door flung open, and a lanky man in a janitor's uniform ran in. "Am I late? I swear I didn't mean to be late. I was just finishing up my duties in the cafeteria-blast whoever decided to throw food around down there, made a dreadful mess-I hope you don't mind me barging in like this-"

"Relax, Mr. Bidwell," Ms. Pauling giggled. "You're not late. In fact, you're right on time. We were just about to start! Here, come read for Naracott."

"Oh, of course. Ever since the Headmistress mentioned you were doing this play-not that I was listening to her while she was ranting on to you the other day-I knew I had to join in, I've loved this show ever since I was a child, acting has always been a passion of mine, I've been working on my Naracott voice for years, I-"

"Mr. Bidwell…"

"Oh, right, sorry. Ah…" He took the script out of Ms. Pauling's hands and flipped it to the first page, his hands trembling slightly as he read his first line. "First lot to be arriving in Jim's boat. Another lot not far behind."

Ms. Pauling slumped her posture slightly, pushed her glasses up on her nose, and let a lock of hair loose from her bun. "Good evening, Fred," she said with a near-perfect British accent. She turned her body slightly towards Mr. Bidwell as they exchanged lines, and she even incorporated a few hand gestures in here and there.

"Calm down, Ethel, everything's shipshape now. Looks nice, don't it, Fred?" Dell didn't even bother with a British accent, and he sounded even more Southern (if that was possible) compared to Ms. Pauling. He read his lines pretty well, even if his voice didn't match.

When it was time for Vera's part, Pierre watched as Ms. Pauling's mannerisms changed again. Her posture was straighter, she fixed her hair, and any hand gestures she made were light and dainty. She raised the pitch of her voice, and the accent she read with was more proper and less Cockney. Pierre read his lines with as good of an accent as he could muster, though there was still a hint of French on certain words. He found himself studying the teacher as she read, with half a mind to shadow her for acting tips.

"Wuh...wiza'd place youse got here," Jeremy said, struggling to read his lines. Like Dell, he didn't even bother with the accent, though as they went through the lines he started tacking on a fake accent here and there. The inconsistency drove Pierre mad.

"Davis, Davis is the name," Mick said, his Australian accent close enough to satisfy the more dedicated actors.

"ER. HOW DO YOU DO." Jane read his lines in his usual shout, with absolutely no intonation whatsoever. Pierre rolled his eyes.

Misha squinted at his lines with suspicion. Reading did not come easily to him, and he hoped he wouldn't have to read any long passages of text. "Where is Mrs. Owen?" he read.

Tavish had to be woken up to read his lines. Thankfully, he didn't have many right at the beginning. His accent, however, made some of his words nigh unintelligible.

"Hey, what's wit' all da 'wizard'in? Dis ain't Harry Potter, is it?" Jeremy said after saying "wizard" roughly three times in a row. Ms. Pauling shook her head. "That's just how he talks. It means 'really cool'."

"Well, how come he can't just say 'really cool?'" Jeremy asked, slumping backwards in his chair. Ms. Pauling sighed and kept on reading.

They somehow managed to get through the first act without any further interruptions, but Marston's death sent Jeremy into an angry fit. "How come I gotta die first like some pussy?! Dis is bullsh-"

Pierre slapped a hand over Jeremy's mouth. He struggled for a few moments, but Ms. Pauling's icy glare shut him up. He sheepishly sat back down in his desk, face red.

"Alright, that's act one," Ms. Pauling said, stretching and setting her book down. "We've got a few more minutes, but I'll let you go early. I want to see you all studying these lines, alright? We'll read act two tomorrow. You are dismissed!"

The eight boys cheered, grabbing their stuff and leaving as quickly as possible. Mr. Bidwell walked up to Ms. Pauling, grabbing her hand and shaking it vigorously. "Thanks again for letting me do this, ma'am. I swear I'll do everything in my power to help you with this. I-I'll even get the other janitors and staff to help out!" Anyone observing could see that he was smitten with her. She laughed, shaking his hand back with equal force. "Of course. I'm always happy to have volunteers. Good luck with courtyard duty, Mr. Bidwell."

"Courtyard duty...HOLY TOLEDO! Sorry, Ms. Pauling, I've gotta go. See you later!" He dashed out of the room, nearly leaving scuff marks on the floor from his speed. Ms. Pauling laughed, shook her head, and sighed, turning to the back of the room. She slowly walked to the back of the room, where Ignis was still sitting in his desk, curled into a ball. She reached out to pull off his hood, but his hand shot up with surprising speed and batted her wrist away. His goggles had slipped onto his forehead, and Ms. Pauling caught a glimpse of a dark bag under an eye before the goggles were yanked back into place. She took a step back, letting him reorient himself.

"Did you fall asleep?" She asked gently, the way one would talk to a child. He nodded sleepily.

"Do you want me to carry you back to your room?" She asked. This question, however, made Ignis go rigid, and he shook his head so hard she worried it might snap off. She took another step back, and he curled into a tighter ball. She gave him a few more moments of silence, then took a step towards him. "Do you need to go to the quiet room?" She whispered, as if she was afraid someone might hear her. He paused, then nodded gently. She stepped back and he stood up, and she turned and walked out of the room, him a calculated foot behind.


	3. Chapter 3

((Ah, Bidwell. Is he Bostonian or British? The world may never know.))

* * *

Read-throughs of the play went rather well. Though Jane reacted badly to his character's quiet death, there was something in his eyes when he read what had happened to MacKenzie's wife that was oddly soft for a boy of his volume. Misha, however, was glad when his character died. His attempts at reading through an entire paragraph of complicated English frustrated him to no end. He barely caught any meaning of what he was reading, and he nearly threw the book across the room during some of his longer sentences. Ms. Pauling was patient with him, and eventually he got through everything. Pierre was still amazed with Ms. Pauling's acting abilities. She pulled off the lines and mannerisms as if they were her own actions. Even Vera's descent into madness was beautifully portrayed. He felt his own acting getting better, and his arguments with Blore were deeply cathartic. Mick didn't really care about the whole thing, but the sooner he could get Josef to stop staring at him when he wasn't reading lines, the better. The German boy had little trouble reading or acting, and already had all of his lines memorized. Dell struggled to keep up, and once he had "died" he joined Misha, Jeremy, and Jane at the left side of the room. Jeremy had called it the "Death Corner", but the name hadn't really stuck. Dell looked over to the back of the room, where Ignis was curled up in his usual spot, sleeping with a posture that no normal person would have been able to sleep in with any sort of comfort.

"How come the freak gets to sleep in the back while the rest of us gotta read this dumbass play?" Jeremy said. Dell rolled his eyes. "He ain't a freak. It's for the best. Just leave him alone."

"Yeah. Who'd wanna listen to him mumble for ten minutes anyway?"

"I DO NOT KNOW WHY WE ARE WHISPERING BUT I WILL ALSO WHISPER AS WELL." Jane's loud whisper from behind them made the two boys jump. They turned to Jane, Jeremy's face going red. "Shut up!" he whispered just as Ms. Pauling shot them another glare.

As they wrapped up act two, Ms. Pauling walked over to the blackboard, writing down a few words. "INTONATION, PACING, and ENUNCIATION. These three things separate good actors from bad ones. I know not many of you are skilled, but I want you to think about these things as we keep reading the script. When you're not reading, please make sure to look over your lines. We need to get these scripts memorized as soon as possible. You are dismissed."

The nine boys left and headed to their respective dorm rooms. Misha and Dell found an older boy leaning against their door. Misha sighed as the older boy stood up, just barely taller than the Russian. Dell figured it was a good time to visit the library before he got in further trouble.

"Hey, fatass," the older boy said, cracking his knuckles. "I've been looking for you. You still owe me for beating up my brother last week."

"Was fair fight," Misha said, not looking at the boy. "He agreed."

"Yeah, well, that don't heal his arm any quicker, yeah? So I figure, you break it, you bought it. And you ain't paid up yet."

"I have no money," Misha said, still not looking the boy in the face. The boy grabbed Misha's chin and tilted it up, glaring into the Russian's eyes.

"That ain't what I mean about paying."

"Vhat on earth are you doing, dummkopf?!"

Misha and the older boy turned to see Josef standing across the hall, glaring at them.

"Beating up students on school grounds vill only get you in trouble, Jack. Leave him alone."

'Jack' pulled away from Misha, muttering under his breath. "I'm coming back for you," he muttered. Misha did not think he was lying.

Once Jack had stomped off, Josef sighed, glaring at Misha. "Do try to stay out of trouble, _mein junior_. You do not vant any more punishments zhan ve already have, ja?"

"Trouble usually finds me," Misha grumbled. He was sick and tired of getting blamed for starting fights. He wasn't a fighting person, he had no desire to fight. He lacked the bloodlust that people assumed a boy of his size would have. Yet, every time he went somewhere new, as the biggest person in the room people wanted to fight him. He was the strongest person he knew (outside of his father or the health teacher), but he couldn't understand why some people just wanted to fight him when they saw him.

"It must be nice, being so strong. Being able to fight anyone who vould try to attack you. It must give you a sense of power."

Misha snapped out of his introspective thoughts, shaking his head sadly. "Is not nice. People want to fight all the time, and you never know why. Is tiring."

"One vould zhink a boy of your stature vould be used to zhe fighting by now."

"Is difference between fighting for sport and fighting to hurt," Misha argued.

"Vhich do you prefer?"

"I would prefer not to fight at all unless I have to." Memories flashed through Misha's mind, memories he had prayed to forget many times over. Senseless violence never led to anything good.

"If I vere you, I vould be using my strength to fight back. Zhere vould be no one to stand against me."

"There would be no one to stand with you, Josef," Misha said, staring at the floor. His voice, already deep for his age, conveyed an adultlike sadness and regret. He stepped backwards towards his room, but Josef stepped forward.

"Jack und his brother vill never touch you again. I vill make sure of it."

Misha smiled. "Thank you, Josef."

With that, the two boys retreated to their respective rooms.

Down the hall, Jeremy flung himself onto his top bunk, looking over to the top bunk across the aisle. Ignis sat on his bed, covered as usual, a large book in his hands.

"Whatcha got dere?" Jeremy asked. Ignis jumped, slapping the book closed. Once they realized they'd forgotten to put a bookmark in it, he yelped, frantically flipping pages to get back to his spot before shoving the bookmark in between the pages and slamming the book on top of the closet next to him.

 _Geez, you'd think I asked him to kill someone,_ Jeremy asked.

"Hey, you ok?" He asked, crawling towards the front of his bunk bed. Ignis leaned back against the wall.

"I ain't gonna hurt you or nothin'. What's your problem?" Jeremy could see Ignis getting flustered, but it didn't click in his brain that he was scaring the boy and probably needed to take it down a notch. He leaned over the gap between the beds, wondering how easily he could jump from one to the other. Ignis pulled himself tightly against the wall, his breathing shallow. He didn't dare look down below him; everything below his bed threatened to spin him to death. A chill ran down his spine, and he felt his stomach turn. Jeremy saw the other boy pale and pulled away, confused and a little disappointed. He crawled back to the other side of his bunk, giving Ignis the space he obviously wanted. As soon as Jeremy's attention wasn't directed on him anymore, Ignis climbed down from his bunk and snuck to the bathroom, ignoring the tilting walls as he hugged the porcelain. When he'd emptied his stomach and washed out his mouth, he climbed into one of the showers and curled up, letting the cold floor soothe him. Another roommate found him sleeping there late at night when he went to take a bedtime shower.

Pierre's ears perked up as he heard the soft padding of feet on the dorm room floor. He carefully shifted himself around so that he could see who was moving without being obvious. He smirked as he watched Mick pace back and forth, jumping slightly whenever the thunder crackled outside.

"Scared of the rain, bushboy?" he said softly, throwing his voice. Mick just about jumped out of his skin. "Who said that? Who's there?"

"Your imagination...or, perhaps, your conscience…"

"Shove off, Pierre."

"Good guess." Pierre sat up, his scheme foiled. "You never answered my question, you know."

"You already asked it. An' I told ya to shove off. I ain't scared'a the rain."

" _Pantalon menteur menteur en feu._ "

"Right. Great. Insult me in French, why don't ya. You know I can't understand French."

"Why not learn? Youth is a wonderful time to learn new zings."

"Whatever. I'm goin' ta bed."

"Sleep well, bush boy. Do not let ze rain keep you awake."

Mick turned bright red, trying to ignore Pierre's snorting as he climbed back into his top bunk, pulling the blankets over himself. Once the Australian was asleep, Pierre climbed down from his own top bunk, walking over to the window and staring outside. Truthfully, he didn't much care for the rain either, but he knew better than to reveal that fact to anyone other than himself. Besides, he reasoned, his dislike of rain had a better reason than the bushboy's childish fear. The Australian had certainly never run through the rain, trying his best not to slip in the mud, trying to be as quiet as possible for fear that he would be grabbed from behind and flung to the ground, a knife at his throat-

Pierre slowly realized that he was scratching the wood on the windowsill, and forced himself to calm down with slow, deep breaths. He avoided looking at his reflection. He knew he wouldn't recognize the face anyway. He closed his eyes, rubbed his face, and stepped back from the glass, heading to the bathroom for a glass of water before he, too, was back in his bed, shrugging off muted nightmares.

At around three in the morning, Pauling threw herself onto her queen-size bed, sighing deeply. She let her hair down and combed it out, remembering how her mother had told her never to comb her hair at night for fear of slowing down sailors. She hadn't seen either of her parents in...was it a decade? She wasn't that old, was she? Who called ten years a decade anymore?

She was rambling again. To herself, no less. She rubbed her face, letting her glasses rest on her forehead. She shouldn't have had that fourth cup of coffee after lunch. She was never going to get to sleep at this rate. Maybe she should invest in some sleeping pills? She laughed to herself. Coffee to stay awake, pills to go to sleep. She was going to kill herself by the time she was 40. Well, if the work didn't get to her first.

She unbuttoned her standard purple dress and took off the leggings and tank top she wore beneath it. Luckily, she hadn't done anything to get a run in these tights today, so she could wear them tomorrow or some other time before she got a chance to do laundry again. She slipped on her nightshirt and buttoned it up, slipping her bra out from underneath. She pulled on her pyjama pants and lay back on the bed, rubbing her aching feet. Sure, she _could_ run around in heels all day, but it was hardly _comfortable_. She made a mental note to book a massage appointment on her next day off. If it got any worse, she told herself, she could always run down to Dr. Zeigler and get her to take a look at her swollen calves. She was sure the nurse would love to have a break from the stream of sick and bloodied boys knocking on her door.

She flicked her bedtable light on and grabbed the book that was sitting next to it, flicking it open to where she had stopped the night before. Reading always helped put her to sleep, and she was good at remembering to mark her place once she got too drowsy to read the words. She climbed under her covers and started reading, leaning back against her pillows. Twenty minutes later she was out, her lamp serving as a nightlight. The rest of the room was on an automatic timer, a project she'd commissioned Bidwell for ages ago once the Headmistress started to complain about her penchant for falling asleep with the lights on and wasting energy. The room was dark before 4am.


	4. Chapter 4

"You wan' me ta read all tha'?" Tavish said, his eyebrows raised as he looked down at the script pages in his hands. Ms. Pauling nodded.

"Tha's a speech, miss! I cannae read all tha'!"

Ms. Pauling smiled. "You'll do just fine. Just take it one word at a time. Don't worry about reading it well for now, just get through it and we'll work on it later, ok?"

Tavish nodded, cracking his knuckles and leaning back. He peered down at the words, taking the time to decipher every sentence before saying it out loud.

"You tho' I was a ghos'. You tho' I were dead. Armstrong said I were dead. Tha' were all par'o tha plan…"

It took a decent couple of minutes for Tavish to read his speech. At some point during the wait, Josef noticed Misha trying to read something at his desk. He was obviously concentrating very hard, and was barely paying attention to the room around him. He was so focused that when Ms. Pauling jumped in with her line, he jumped as well, knocking the book onto the floor. Before Misha could struggle out of his desk and onto the floor, Josef stood up and walked over, bending over and whipping the book off the floor, dusting off the pages and making sure they were all straightened out. He looked at the cover, and his thick black eyebrows raised a couple of inches.

"You are reading zhe actual book?" He asked, impressed. Misha nodded, not blushing but still averting his eyes.

"Vhere did you find zhis?" Josef asked, unusually talkative. Misha shrugged. "School library. Dell had book last night, offered to...borrow to me." He gave Josef an odd look. The older boy kept his left arm stiff, and occasionally he would rub it when he thought nobody was looking. Misha reached out a hand to grab his arm, only for Josef to yelp and jump away at the last second.

"Vhat are you doing?!" He whispered harshly, trying to keep his voice down. Misha pointed to his arm, then beckoned it towards him. After almost a full minute of hesitation, Josef gave in, sitting down in the desk in front of Misha and holding out his left arm. Misha gently held it in his large hands, carefully sliding back the sleeve of Josef's shirt. Josef tried to hide his blushing as he felt Misha's fingers brush against his skin. Misha's eyebrows slowly raised as he looked down at the dark-blue-and-purple mess that was Josef's arm. A few bandaids covered the worst of the damage, where the arm was scraped and bleeding, but Josef didn't appear to be bothered. The boy was a great actor when it came to dealing with pain.

"Who did this to you?" Misha asked, his voice calm but firm. Josef scowled. "None of your business."

Misha was about to angrily retort, but the rest of the boys started clapping, and they realized that Pierre and Ms. Pauling were done with the play. A chorus of high-fives went around the room as the boys celebrated their freedom.

"Don't celebrate too much," Ms. Pauling said, smiling. "We're done with the first read through, and you guys did great. I'm super proud of you. But we don't have much time to get this play ready to perform, so I need you guys to really be studying your lines. We'll run through blocking next week, and I want you guys to have these lines memorized as soon as possible. Consider it a grade. Your academic record is resting on this play." She gave the boys a severe look before brightening and looking at the clock. "It's a little early, but I think I'll let you guys go so you can study your lines a little more before dinner. If anyone needs help, you know how to reach me. Good luck!"

With that, the majority of the boys stood up and left the room, save for Ignis, Misha, and Josef. Josef tried to pull away from Misha, but the Russian still had a tight but gentle grip on his arm. Ms. Pauling sensed a conflict and walked over. "What's up, you guys?"

"Josef is hurt," Misha said curtly. "Will not tell me who hurt him."

Now it was Ms. Pauling's turn to raise her eyebrows. "Is this true, Josef?"

Josef scowl darkened, and he looked away. "I fell down zhe stairs. I am fine. Zhere is no reason for your concern."

"Josef…" Ms. Pauling started, but Josef yanked his arm out of Misha's grasp, a grimace flashing across his face as his bruises were pressed on and a few bandaids were scraped off. He moved quickly, grabbing his belongings and racing for the door, but Ms. Pauling was just a little faster and blocked his way. "Josef, go see the nurse right now. I'll write you a note. You don't have to tell anyone what happened, but you can't walk around like this. Straight to the nurse, understand?"

Josef glared at her, but nodded, and she moved so he could leave the room. He strode out, face dark, and she gave a deep sigh once he was gone. "What's with him?" She asked Misha, who shrugged frustratedly. "He will not say. He keeps everything wound up in his head. Impossible to know what bothers him."

"And are you ok with that?" Ms. Pauling asked. "You seem pretty upset about it."

"Is frustrating. Better to say what you think. Get words out easy. Do not confuse your friends."  
"Do you consider Josef a friend?" Ms. Pauling asked, a smile creeping onto her face. Misha looked away sharply, frowning but going slightly red. "Come on, I'm a counselor!" Ms. Pauling said. "You can tell me anything."

"Josef is...interesting boy," Misha admitted after a long pause. "But frustrating. And complicated."

"Do you think you want to get to know him better?" Ms. Pauling asked. She put her hands up, shaking her head. "Sorry. Maybe that was too personal."

"Is fine," Misha said, waving a large hand at her. "Would like to know him better. But he is always angry with me. So I leave him alone."

"He does seem a bit grumpy...maybe there's something going on."  
"You can talk to him?" Misha asked. Ms. Pauling shook her head. "Did you see the way he glared at me? He's not ready. But I know someone who WILL talk to him, and she's about to, very soon…"

"When the patient woke up, his patellae were missing, and the doctor was never heard from again!"

Josef cackled, leaning back on the stiff bed as his face squeezed with mirth. Dr. Zeigler, for her part, kept her laughter polite and feminine, though it was clear she had told this story before and thought it funnier than she showed. She pulled her ponytailed blond hair tighter, and leaned forward, laying a gentle hand on Josef's arm as he fought to regain control of himself. He quickly noticed her touch and met her concerned gaze.

"Let's sheck on that arm, ja?" she asked, her voice soft. They'd been joking around for almost an hour, and she had seen how Josef favored his left arm. He kept it mostly behind him, his sleeve rolled down and firmly buttoned to prevent any peeking. After years as a hospital doctor, then a battle medic, and more recently a school nurse, she knew how to recognize someone who was hiding an injury. Josef's face went from confusion, to anger, to resignation. He lifted his arm, placing it in Dr. Zeigler's gentle grasp, and she carefully unbuttoned his sleeve and rolled it up, hissing at the blood and bruises. "What have you been doing? Who did this to you?"

"It does not matter," Josef said, not meeting her gaze.

"Of course it matters," She replied calmly. "I won't tell anyone if you don't want me to, but it matters whether this was a random fight or whether someone did this to you for a reason. You're not hurting them by telling me, and you're not hurting yourself either. You're simply stating the truth."

Josef thought about this for a moment. It would be nice to talk to someone about what was going on, even if he doubted it would help. He sure wasn't going to talk to that counselor.

"I vas...protecting someone. Und underclassman. Someone who vas being asked to fight battled he did not vish to fight. He had bullies, I stood up to zhem, and zhis is vhat I get. A nearly broken arm and zhe fear of a boy who does not even know I am protecting him." He looked slightly embarrassed to say this last part.

"I think that is brawe of you," Dr. Zeigler responded. "To help someone just because you want to. Because it is the right thing to do."

"You may be right," Josef admitted. There was a long pause of silence.

"Well," Dr. Zeigler said, glancing at the clock, "We should get to work on this arm."

Josef nodded. Dr. Zeigler pulled out a first aid kit to start sterilyzing and cleaning his arm. "Josef?" she asked.

"Yes?" he replied.

"If something like this happens again, please talk to me about it. Consider it my way of protecting you." She smiled warmly, and Josef couldn't help but nod in agreement. He skipped dinner that night, but slept soundly.

Meanwhile, Pierre was having a restless night. It wasn't caused by anything, but he found his dreams plagued by dark corridors and bombs in the distance. Finally he woke up, breathing heavily, sweat dripping from his face. He swore in French, climbing out of bed and walking to the bathroom for some water. Just as he turned the water off, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He jumped nearly a foot in the air, spinning around and stabbing at his attacker with the closest object he could find, which happened to be someone's disgusting toothbrush.

Mick jumped back in surprise, barely dodging a glob of what, a month ago, had likely been toothpaste. "Oi!" he whispered.

"What are you doing out of bed?" Pierre whispered back harshly, even more furious at being spooked now that he knew it had been by someone he disliked.

"Relax, wanker! I 'eard you stompin' around and figured I'd see what the fuss were about."

"There is no _fuss_ ," Pierre hissed. "Now go back to bed."

Mick sighed, looking around the small but filthy bathroom their room was sharing. He really was doing this, wasn't he?

"Look, I'm not tryin' ter bother you, I'm just-...I figured we got off to a bad start. We're supposed ta be workin' together for this play, right? We should be nicer to each other."

He stuck his hand out for a shake. Pierre inspected it. Though his hand was trembling slightly, Mick's face was sincere. He really did want to be friends.

Sighing, Pierre stuck his hand out. He might as well get this over with. "Fine. But do not expect me to "buddy" up to you."

"Tha's fine by me," Mick admitted. "I just don't wanna fight anymore."

"Acceptable. Now, we have school in the morning, we should be off to bed," Pierre pointed out. Mick nodded. He tiptoed back to his bed, flopping down on top of it, letting out a deep breath of air. Though he'd never have admitted it to Pierre, he'd just gotten a letter from his parents. His dad was in the hospital for something with his lungs. There was a high chance everything would be fine, but there was a small chance he might not make it. In the letter his mum had mentioned that she'd heard about his detention and knew he could be better than that, and that had guilted him into silence for most of the day. When he'd heard Spy roll around in bed and get up, he felt like making up with the French boy, and now that he had he felt a little better.

Pierre threw the covers back over himself, trying to ignore the fact that this was the first time he'd looked directly into Mick's eyes without any sunglasses in the way.

His eyes were a beautiful shade of blue.

* * *

((This is the last chapter I have ready, so new chapters will come in as I figure them out. If you've got suggestions of what should happen next, PM me either on here or on Tumblr. ))


	5. Chapter 5

Jeremy woke to his alarm clock begrudgingly. He really didn't feel like getting up this morning. His dreams had been too vivid, too great, to even consider getting out of bed today. Even so, he pulled himself out of bed, dressing and preparing himself for the day sloppily. He stayed half asleep until halfway through breakfast, when the sheer amount of sugar he'd poured on top of his cereal finally made it into his bloodstream.  
"I 'ave a 'ard time believing zat you are still ALIVE after all of zat, petit," a voice teased from behind him. Jeremy turned around, clutching his pile of sugar defensively and staring up at Pierre. "Yeah, well, I am, so buzz off."  
Pierre shrugged and buzzed off, not wanting to waste any more time on the loud American. He glanced over to where Mick was quietly eating a sugarless bowl of cornflakes, and decided to wait until after breakfast to pick fights. He stalked over to the waffle maker, which today had only one other occupant. Josef gave the French boy a curt nod as he approached. "Nearly done," he explained, and Pierre nodded. He waited patiently for the German to finish cooking before stepping forward and pouring the batter into the frying pan.  
"Mornin'," a Texan voice said from behind him. Pierre threw a nod over his shoulder at Dell. A curious smell caught his attention, and he turned around, eyes going wide at the metal cup in Dell's hand.  
"Is that...COFFEE?" He asked, agape. Dell smirked and nodded.  
"Zey serve coffee here? I 'aven't seen any signs of a machine."  
Dell shook his head. "Got my own supply. Built myself a machine a month or so ago, pretty easy when ya consider it's just a hot plate and a water boiler. Teachers don't know, and we don't have rules against cups, so..."  
"And what would someone have to do in order to...share some of your...wealth?" Pierre asked shiftily. Dell chuckled. "All I need is a 'please' before and a 'thank you' afterwards. And a promise you won't rat me out, of course."  
Pierre nodded professionally. "You never spoke to me."  
The maker dinged, his waffle was ready.

First class of the day and Mick was already considering cutting class. He'd woken up with a terrible migraine, and the glasses hadn't helped a bit. He survived most of the class by resting his head on the desk, perking up when Ms. Oxton, the English teacher, walked by. Somehow he'd managed to answer every question that was asked of him without looking like a damned fool, though he was sure he at least looked like a regular fool. He tried to soak in the lesson, but the thumping of Ms. Oxton's feet on the floor made his brain boil. She was so peppy and fast that the tip-tip-tip of her shoes was like the pecking of a woodpecker. He groaned under his breath.  
A few desks over, Pierre heard the groan of his classmate. After taking a few seconds to observe the situation, he quietly tore a piece of paper out of his notebook and carefully folded it. When Ms. Oxton went to answer a question across the room, Pierre ducked into his bag and shook out two small blue pills, tucking them into the folded paper and sealing them with a small piece of tape. He wrote "Mick" on the paper and leaned over, nudging the boy next to him, holding out the paper, and gesturing to Mick. The boy nodded absent-mindedly, his gaze focused on Ms. Oxton's back, but he handed the package along.  
When the folded-up piece of paper touched Mick's arm, he looked at it in confusion. When he opened it his eyes went wide. He looked around for the source of his salvation, and failing that he tucked the paper in his pocket and raised his hand. "Oi, Ms. Oxton?" He called. In a moment she was over to his desk. "Yes, luv?" She quipped cheerily, causing Mick to fight off a wince. "May I go get a drink of water?" He asked quietly. Ms. Oxton looked around to see if anyone else was missing, then nodded. "Take the pass and be back in a tic, luv!" She skipped off. Sighing, Mick stood up, giving another look around the room before walking towards the door. He caught Pierre's eyes flicking towards him, but it seemed unlike the insulting Frenchboy to Be so...caring? Generous? Whatever it was, it made Mick suspicious. He made his trip to the fountain quick, and the smuggled meds were already starting to kick in by the time he got back to class. He glanced at Pierre one more time when he got back to class, nodding thankfully when the other boy made eye contact. Pierre just gave a dip of his head back and returned his focus to the discussion on 'Chronicle of a Death Foretold'.

Second period of the day for Josef was Math Studies, and he had no trouble with Ms. Vaswani, whose intelligence and meticulousness he understood and almost admired. However, as skilled a biology student he was, math was not his favorite subject, and especially not factoring, which was currently driving him crazy. It just didn't click with him. Factoring, gradients, and probability were all sticky subjects, and any day spent focusing entirely on them was a tough day for him.  
A hand was raised across the room to answer a question, and to Josef's surprise it was Dell that went up and wrote the complicated numbers and figures on Ms. Vaswani's fancy lightboard. Josef's brow furrowed. How had he not noticed the Texan before? Wasn't he a grad below everyone else in the class?  
Dell was, in fact, a junior, but he was one who'd had a prerequisite for math finished early enough to take a senior math class a year early. The advantage to this was that he wouldn't be required to take a math class next year, though he certainly planned to. He liked Ms. Vaswani fine enough, though Mr. Lindholm was his favorite teacher, but what he really liked was numbers. They made sense to him, and he could speak them like another language. When those numbers were put to work they could create beautiful things, like his homemade coffee machine.  
Josef was brought to attention when Ms. Vaswani called him up to answer a question. Obviously he didn't know the answer, who was supposed to know what made up 32x?  
Apparently Dell, who scribbled down the answer on a piece of paper and chucked it at the board. Josef picked up the paper and opened it, quickly scribbling the answer on the board before giving Dell a grateful look over his shoulder. Dell winked.  
If the Texan was this smart and helpful, Josef supposed he could stay.

Misha grinned widely as Mr. Wilhelm finished another of his extravagant youth-hood stories. Though German wasn't Misha's first language, he had chosen the class because it wasn't far off from his own native tongue, and because he had heard the teacher told great stories. The rumors were correct, and German had quickly become Misha's second favorite class, the first place winner being right after lunch. Ms. Zaryanova, while known for letting her students play harmfully physical games, was a lot of fun on her own, and it was good to be able to talk to someone who spoke his own tongue.

A loud snore broke his reverie. Misha's eyes turned towards Tavish, who was asleep at his desk. Oddly enough, Misha couldn't smell any alcohol on his classmate. Perhaps he was just tired?

"Boys! Quickly! Who can tell me the literal translation of ' _Wir haben zusammen noch keine Schweine gehütet'_?"

Mr. Wilhelm looked around the classroom, eyes narrowing as he searched for a target.

"You! Asleep in the back!"

Mr. Wilhelm pointed to Tavish. Misha looked over at his classmate, who jerked awake as a deskmate poked him.

"Wassat…?" Tavish muttered. Misha turned to the teacher and raised his hand. "I know answer," he said.

"Go ahead, Misha."  
"Literal meaning is 'we have not kept pigs together'. Means you do not know person well."

"Excellent! Thank you!"

The lesson continued on, and Tavish went back to sleep, unaware of the embarrassment Misha had just saved him from.

"ALRIGHT BOYS! LINE UP!"

Half of the boys present internally rolled their eyes, but all lined up perfectly with no hesitation. Ms. Zaryanova looked at them hungrily. She scanned the line, looking for the two chosen vict-CAPTAINS. She found two particularly strapping specimens and tapped them on the shoulder, and they stepped forward.

"Captains! Shake hands!" She bellowed.

Jane grinned widely as he stomped towards Misha, who looked like he'd rather be anywhere else. Nonetheless, the Russian stuck his hand out, and the American took it, trying to crush it beneath his grip. The Russian sighed.

"Captains, pick your teammates!" Ms. Zaryanova yelled. The captains played a quick game of rock paper scissors, and Misha won. He pointed over at Josef, who scowled, though he was unused to being chosen first for games.

"I PICK TAVISH," Jane yelled.

"Mick."  
"JEREMY."

"Pierre."  
"DELL."

The two went back and forth until the rest of the boys in the line were picked. Dell noticed Ignis was absent, though perhaps he didn't need to participate in sports since he was...whatever he was.

"Alright boys! Today we play dodgeball! The team who picked last plays first!" She blew her whistle loud enough that Pierre winced. The boys spread into their teams and sides of the gym, and Ms. Zaryanova hurled a ball at Jane, who surprisingly caught it with ease. She blew her whistle again and Jane hurled the ball at Misha, who caught it, grunting from the force of the throw. The Russian turned and strategically flicked the ball at Jeremy, who managed to dodge. He raced after the ball and picked it up, lobbing it at Mick, who picked it out of the air - that growth spurt had been good for something - and flung it at Tavish, who barely registered the ball coming his way before it bopped him on the shins. "Aw no," he said, faking disappointment, "guess I ought'er sit down." He trod over to the bench and laid down, quickly falling asleep.

Misha had the ball next, and nearly spun as he thrust the ball through the air towards one of Jane's other teammates. The hit knocked the boy off his feet and he fell backwards, and the ball bounced towards Jane, who swung it in Pierre's direction. The Frenchboy deftly dodged the attack, though he missed the recovery. Before he could run after it, however, Mick had scooped it off the ground and tossed it at another boy, hitting him in the legs. Pierre stared at Mick. In his normal jacket and aviators, he was closed off, but here, in the standard red shorts and white t-shirt uniform they were forced to wear, Pierre could see Mick's body, his slight muscles from hunting outside, the grace of his fingertips, the way the sweat ran just so to make his shirt see-through -

A sharp pain in Pierre's thigh brought him back to reality, and he groaned in realization. He stalked over to the loser bench, his only consolation being that now he could watch Mick from the sidelines.

Mick, on the other hand, barely realized Pierre was missing, as he was busy defending Josef from attacks. Misha was doing his best, but it seemed that the losing team had decided that if they wouldn't win, they could at least knock out the nerd. Dell had somehow gone unnoticed until now, though a few tense moments later he would up getting walloped in the stomach, and basically crawled back over to the bench. Pierre allowed Dell to curl up on the bench next to him, though he didn't offer more than a few words of comfort and an offer to walk him to the nurse after class, to which Dell gratefully accepted.

Josef took an awkwardly long time to realize that Misha was protecting him, but when he did he was very nearly furious. He wanted to forge his own path, survive on his own, not be protected by someone younger than himself! He grabbed the next ball that came by and flung it with all his might at Jeremy, who very easily caught it and flung it back in Josef's direction, striking him in the chest with incredible speed before Misha could stop him. Wind knocked out of him, Josef fell backwards, hitting the floor with a loud BANG. Ms. Zaryanova blew her whistle. "Foul ball!"

Jeremy groaned, and stomped over to Josef to help him up. Josef barely caught Jeremy's muttering, all he could hear was the pounding of his heart in his ears and the eerie feeling of not being able to breathe. Jeremy's jerking of his arm quickly brought him back to reality, and he coughed his way back over to the bench, leaning against the wall next to Dell. Jeremy sat on the other side of Tavish, grumbling about how long the game was taking.

"Anozer casualty for Dr. Zeigler," Pierre snarked. Josef shrugged, not having the energy to scowl.

Finally, after another ten bloodthirsty minutes, the game ended, with a victory for Misha's team. It wound up being just Jane and Misha at the end, who dueled it out for the longest time before Jeremy shouted "what's the alamo?" and Misha took the opportunity to tag Jane out.

"Good job today boys! Remember, in the battle of blood, the one who bleeds the most is the winner!"

Ms. Zaryanova's idioms were lost on the entire classroom of boys, most of whom were only concerned with getting to the nurse or to their rooms for a long nap. Fortunately, PE was the last class of the day, so there were no classes or commitments to stop Pierre from leading Dell, Josef, and Mick to the infirmary. Mick had been hit directly in the face, and his nose had yet to stop bleeding. Pierre had offered some tissues, which Mick had accepted, despite complaining that they smelled like bread.

"Josef! So soon?" Dr. Zeigler chirped as the boys staggered into the room.

"Ms. Zaryanova made us play dodgeball today," Josef explained. Dr. Zeigler sighed. "That woman. So rough with such weak bodies! Find a seat, boys! Most to least serious!"

Pierre parked Mick in the seat closest to Dr. Zeigler's desk while she started grabbing materials. Dell took the seat next to Mick, and Josef took the seat after Dell. Pierre shrugged and planted himself in the remaining chair.

"Bloody nose?"

"Yeb," Mick responded blankly. Dr. Zeigler quickly stuffed some cotton balls up Mick's nose. "Don't sneeze!" She said cheerfully, and it was all Mick could take not to glare at the woman.

"What about you, _barn_?"

Dell shrugged, then winced. "Ball to the gut. I think I broke something?"

Dr. Zeigler quickly and professionally patted down Dell's body from his shoulders to his waist. Dell somehow managed not to blush. Dr. Zeigler's fingers lingered around the bottom of Dell's ribcage, and Dell winced as she poked particularly hard at a part that hurt.

"You may have cracked a rib. I'd be careful and drink lots of milk. Next?"  
"Vind was knocked out of me," Josef wheezed, "Still veak."

"Hmm!" Dr. Zeigler said. She pulled out a stethoscope and listened to Josef's lungs for a moment before taking them off. "You're fine, just be careful with yourself." She opened a drawer and pulled out a tube of goo, pulling up Josef's shirt and rubbing the goo over a spot that had already begun to bruise. "This will get rid of the pain. Here," she turned and yanked up Dell's shirt, spreading the goo on his stomach. Dell bit his tongue to avoid giggling at the ticklish sensation.

"All four of you! Epsom salts!" She pulled a bag out of her drawer and opened it, pulling four more ziploc bags out and filling each bag with two scoops of salt. "Pour this in the tub, soak for awhile! It'll help your muscles feel better. If you have any other friends who were hurt today, tell them to come see me!"

"Yes, Dr. Zeigler," the four responded in unison, before standing and quietly leaving the room.

"What now?" Dell asked.

"I subbose we go do dinner or do bed," Mick shrugged.

"I do not know if I could eat at zhe moment," Josef admitted.

"I feel ya, pardner. Though, we probably should get something to eat, even if it's just a glass of juice. No point in going hungry, we'll just hurt more," Dell advised.

"I agree with Dell," Pierre nodded. "Zough I may be hurt considerably less zan ze three of you, I am tired; yet eating now when we are tired will help more zan not eating at all."

The four walked to the cafeteria, where Misha, Jeremy, and Ignis were sitting together and eating. "Look who I found!" Jeremy announced as he saw the four walk in, motioning to Ignis. "Betcha this guy don't even gotta take PE! Lucky bastard!"

The four didn't even respond to that, aside from Dell waving to Ignis as he sat down. "Anything good tonight?" he asked.

"Nothing much," Misha grumbled. "Chicken and potato sticks."

"Sounds like comfort food to me," Dell said, standing up and walking off to get dinner. Mick followed him, still trying not to sneeze. Josef and Pierre went for the salad bar, coming back with a few small bowls of veggies at about the same time Mick and Dell got back with their chicken sandwiches and fries.

"Rough day, huh?" Jeremy said, suddenly sounding nervous. Everyone but Ignis nodded. Jeremy looked around shiftily.

"Hey, uh, Josef?" He asked, leaning forward. Josef looked at him. "Hm?" he asked, his mouth full of cucumber.

"I uh...didn't mean to foul you, earlier. Ball slipped. You gonna be ok?"

Josef started choking on his cucumber. Mick leaned over and whacked the German on the back, while at the same time Pierre held a napkin to the German's mouth. Scowling at his undigested cucumber bite, he looked up at Jeremy like he was crazy. "Excuse me?"

"I asked if you were gonna be ok! Especially after I just...nearly killed you...again…"

Josef stared at Jeremy for longer to make sure he wasn't joking, then burst out laughing. It was the happiest anyone had seen Josef so far.

"Josef?"

"Amazing. You, actually apologizing! HA!" He laughed hysterically for a few moments before nearly fainting and catching his breath. "I am sorry, but even you must understand zhat vith your temperament nobody would expect you to apologize for a foul ball."  
Jeremy blushed. "Well, y'know, I am! I'm tryin to be a better person 'n all. Tryin to make friends."

That sent the whole other half of the table chuckling. Misha silenced them with a wave, though he too was smiling. "The boy is right. We should be friends. I am lonely before meeting you all. And after we are done with detaining, there is no harm in remaining close, yes?"

There was a short pause as the boys at the table looked around at each other. In only a few short days they had grown close enough to eat and laugh with each other. Maybe one of them could say that ehy had been living this close to other people before now.

"I agree with Misha," Pierre said. "Even if just for now, zere is no harm in being friends." _Peut-etre plus que des amis_ , he thought, looking over at Mick.

"Yer right," Mick said. "Friends."

Josef chuckled again. "Indeed. Und yes, Jeremy, I forgive you for earlier. It is not your fault Ms. Zaryanova makes us play such violent games."

Dell looked over at Ignis. "Hey, buddy? Any input here?"

Ignis looked over, put up a thumb, and went back to staring at his alphabet soup, which nobody had yet realized the cafeteria wasn't even serving that day.

"I'd say that solves it," Dell said. "Friends."

* * *

((Sorry for the long break in updates, guys. I've had absolutely no inspiration to write, nor ideas or submissions for chapters, nor time to write stuff. I hammered this out over the course of summer break and a large chunk was done a couple of weeks ago during a very long car ride.

A few things I wanna note real quick:

If you wanna see this update more regularly, send me chapter ideas and suggestions. This may be a lazy move, but clearly sitting around waiting for inspiration isn't going to make this update any faster.

I will not be making Ashe a character in this story. Not only is she pretty unoriginal both in terms of design and personality, I just can't see a place for her in the faculty, plus she doesn't like McCree so bleh. Maybe later she'll come in as an antagonist? I highly doubt it. Besides, I didn't include a couple of characters in this story (All the omnics and the hamster) because I couldn't figure out how to make them fit without humanizing them and (in Orisa's case) changing their personalities. (the hamster might get a cameo as a class pet tho)

Don't expect an update to this super soon, and please don't get angsty about it in the comments. Harsh as it is I'm in no way obligated to keep updating this, and comments like "Well R.I.P. this fic" kinda make me wanna go "yep. screw it. it's dead." and I don't want that. Life is a slow and painful process.

I hope you enjoy (and my AN wasn't too emo or passive-aggressive) and I hope to bring you another chapter or two before the year is out!))


	6. Chapter 6

Misha grunted under his breath. He had slept in, missed breakfast, and now he was about to be late for class. He just had one flight of stairs left to go. He knew he should run for it, but he was already sweating like a pig and if he ran any more he was sure he'd pass out.  
Just as he reached the halfway point on the stairs, he heard a shout behind him. He turned around to see Tavish slip on the stairs and fall, dropping his stuff. Without much thought, Misha ran back down the stairs and held out a hand to Tavish, who caught his breath and accepted the help. The two of them gathered Tavish's books and headed back up the stairs.  
"Which class is your next?" Misha asked.  
"Math," Tavish moaned.  
"Is next to my class," Misha nodded. "Come on!"  
The two jogged up the stairs and into their classrooms, landing in their seats a few seconds before class began.

-spacer-

"No, that figure's supposed to go over here."  
"Nein, over here!"  
"Dammit!"  
Dell and Josef had been placed together on an assignment, and were caught in a minor argument about the best way to go about solving their problem set.  
"Ve're only supposed to pour half of a teaspoon in here!"  
"Naw, it says to pour a whole tablespoon in here."  
"Dell, that vill not-"  
"Ah, class!" Dr. Zhou interjected. "Observe! Dell has added much more hydrogen peroxide to his compound than was listed in last week's formula! Let's take notes on what happens!"  
What happened was that the compound in front of Dell exploded, spraying the front of his uniform with blue foam. The entire class was deadly silent.  
Dell stared down at his shirt, calculating how long it would take to wash the crap out of his shirt. Then he looked up to Josef, making direct eye contact.  
Then they exploded with laughter.  
"Ah man, you were right! That's on me!" Dell chuckled.  
"Indeed, and yet you poured it in anyway!"  
"Yep. Hoo!"  
Dr. Zhou shook her head at the two boys, though she could not hide her own smile. She loved kids with an enthusiasm for science.

-spacer-

It was finally time to start practicing on stage. Mr. Bidwell was already hard at work designing the set and props, and Ms. Pauling was pretty busy helping him out, but decided it would be a good idea to let the boys practice on the stage now and get the blocking later. The eight boys read through their scripts without much fanfare, though Pierre and Josef bragged about how they were already off book. Jane and Tavish wandered off together afterwards, Tavish muttering about sharing a taste of his scrumpy.

-spacer-

The sky was clear, turning a lovely shade of orange and pink. The birds had all gathered on the roof, and Josef had gathered to feed them. As he pushed open the rusty door that led to the roof, he paused to reflect on the sky before him, how it was rarely really one color, but blended and faded together without truly mixing. He tilted his head downward to survey his birds, and jolted when he saw he wasn't alone.  
Sitting on the edge of the roof, a bird sitting on his head, was Ignis. His hood was down, and his face was uncovered. He held out some cracker crumbs to another bird, who hopped up onto his hand and pecked at the crumbs happily.  
"Afternoon," Josef tried to say quietly, but Ignis still jumped like he'd been shot. The birds and crumbs went flying, and Ignis came very close to falling off the roof, barely catching himself on the ledge. He quickly got up and spun around, looking to run. Josef threw up his hands. "Please don't go on account of me!" he protested. "I am only here to feed zhe birds. I promise I vill not bozher you."  
Ignis looked indecisive, but eventually relented, pulling his hood back up and sitting down a few yards away from Josef. Josef shrugged, walking over to the aviary and reaching in for one of the birds, who hopped onto his arm. Josef settled the bird on his shoulder and began inspecting the nests and the birds inside them, making sure everyone was healthy and happy. He let out various coos to the birds as he petted them, letting them rub their heads along his fingers.  
"Do you come here often?" He asked Ignis. "I come to feed zhe birds and to make sure zhey are happy."  
No response from Ignis, though he did appear to be listening.  
"I suppose zhey could use zhe extra company," Josef said. "I von't be around much longer to feed zhem anyvay. Once I graduate zhis spring, zhey vill be all alone."  
Ignis looked up at Josef, and while he didn't speak, Josef knew he understood.  
"I keep zhe bird food in zhe closet over zhere. Just a few handfuls should be enough. Zhey also need vater vhen it gets varmer. Can you handle zhat?"  
Ignis was still for a moment, then nodded. Josef smiled.  
"Good. Zhey vill be happy to have you."

-i wanna be spacer-

"'Ey, you seen my hat?" Jeremy asked.  
"Nah," Mick replied, not looking up from the book he was reading.  
"Dammit!" Jeremy groaned, stomping around the common room once more. He'd been frantically digging through his belongings and the belongings of the other dorms on their hall for the last twenty minutes. He kicked the base of a table, grunting in pain as his toe popped on impact. "Fuck!" He whispered, as if worried he'd get caught.  
"What's it look loike?" Mick asked, figuring he might as well help if it would keep the peace. Jeremy perked up like a meerkat.  
"It's red, an' it's got a pair of socks on it," he said. Mick thought back through his day. "It's probably still on the stage," he mused. Jeremy's eyes went wide.  
"You're right! C'mon, we gotta go get it!"  
"Hold on, WE?"  
"Yeah, you remember where you saw it, right?"  
"Yeah, but-"  
"Then you gotta help me find it! C'mon, Mick, please?"  
"Jeremy, I'm not-"  
"Pleaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa-"  
"OKAY! OKAY! I'LL HELP 'YA FIND YER STUPID BLOODY CAP!"  
Jeremy let out an enormous breath of air. "Cool. Let's go!"  
He waited for Mick to stand up before running to the door, throwing it open but catching it before it could hit the wall behind it. Mick marked his place in his book and followed Jeremy through the hall, down the stairs, and past the classrooms to the theatre. Just as Jeremy was about to open the door, Mick stopped him. "Shh! I hear something." He pressed his ear to the door.

"Look, I'm sure you mean well, but-"  
"It'll be fun! You, me, the big screen, the salty popcorn, two seats right next to each other-"  
"Yes, but I have work to do, and I don't really have time for-"  
"Surely if I can find the time to go, you can find the time to go!"  
"It's not that simple. I have more work to do than you. In fact, I have about four jobs I'm not getting work done on just to be here right now."  
"Don't be like that-"  
"Look, I'm sorry, but I am not interested. I wouldn't have come if I'd known you were trying to ask me out. You know the policy on workplace dating anyway."  
"Yeah, but we're different-"  
"No, we're really, really not."  
"...So that's a no then?"  
"That is correct."  
"Well, fine then. I'm sure there's other women around here that would love to go with me."  
"And I hope you find them, Bidwell. Have a good night."

Mick pulled back from the door, grabbing Jeremy's arm. "Follow my lead," he whispered, dragging Jeremy back to the end of the hallway and slowly walking back towards the theatre. Just as the door started to open, Mick picked up the pace to a normal walking speed. Ms. Pauling stepped out, looking more tired than usual, stopping when she saw the boys.  
"Mick, Jeremy, what are you two doing here?"  
"We came to look for Jeremy's hat," Mick answered honestly. "What are you doing here?"  
"Wasting my time," Ms. Pauling sighed. "The door's unlocked, don't mess with anything while you're in there, ok?"  
"Yes, miss," Mick replied. He watched her walk down the hall and around the corner before turning back to Jeremy, who stood there looking as if someone had just asked him to list every single mathematical formula off the top of his head. "What just happened?" he asked.  
"I'll tell you later," Mick said. "Let's go get your cap."

-i'm already spacer-

While patrolling the hallways on a search for gossip, Pierre noticed a peculiar smell coming from one of the bathrooms. Upon opening the door, he jumped as he saw Tavish and Jane, lying on the floor out cold. A plastic bag with some raisins in it lay next to Jane, and upon carefully inspecting it Pierre confirmed it as the source of the smell. Sighing, he kicked the feet of the sleeping boys, who both slowly came halfway awake, groggy and still clearly tipsy.  
"You need to move," Pierre said. Someone is going to find you."  
"Adhfueshdiomifeo," Jane mumbled.  
"Yea," Tavish agreed.  
Pierre rolled his eyes. "Up." When this got no results, he walked to the sink and poured some water in his hands, splashing it on the two drunk boys. Grumbling, they stood up, stumbling behind him as he lead them out of the bathroom and down the hallway.  
Pierre briefly considered taking the two straight to the nurse. Yes, they would likely wind up in trouble for drinking, but at least they'd be off his hands. But after thinking about it for a moment, and considering what it might do to his reputation if he was spotted walking across the school with two drunk boys, he decided it would be easier to take them to their beds and let them sleep it off. Keeping an eye out for hall monitors and wayward teachers, the three made their way back to the common room, where Mick was reading in the corner. Pierre and Mick made eye contact, and Pierre gestured to the boys and shrugged in a "what can you do" manner. Mick nodded and made a gesture that let Pierre know he wouldn't be talking about what he had just seen. The two drunk boys, by this point, had become sober enough to know which bed was theirs, and threw themselves into bed clothes and all. Before they could fully fall asleep, though, Pierre made sure to get them both a glass of water and watched them each drink it. Once he was sure the two wouldn't do anything crazy, he went back out to the common room, sitting next to Mick.  
"You are holding zat book awfully close to your face," Pierre remarked. Mick pulled the pages away from his nose and scowled. "No I'm not," he muttered.  
"Have it your way," Pierre sighed, leaning back in his seat. "Zo' if you were to want some reading glasses, I'm sure I would know where to find some..."  
"I don't need reading glasses."  
"Of course you don't. You simply choose to hold zat book inches away from your eyes. Which, may I add, are a fascinating shade of blue."  
Mick blushed, blinking rapidly as if he could make his eyes go away by doing so. "What do 'ya want, frog boy?"  
"Nozing! Only to make conversation."  
"Well why don't you...you could just...fine. What do 'ya wanna talk about?"  
Pierre paused for a moment.  
"What are you reading about?" he finally asked.  
"'sa book about birds," Mick said begrudgingly. "Owls."  
"Are owls your favorite bird?"  
"Yeah. Just...the way they can see all the way around them and see at night an' all that. They've got good oys."  
"As opposed to certain schoolboys?" Pierre poked. Mick glared at him. "Bugger off," he said.  
"My apologies, I did not mean to touch on a sore spot," Pierre said, raising his hands in a sign of genuine apology. Mick sighed and turned back to his book. "What's yer favorite animal?" he asked.  
"Hm, I am not sure," Pierre contemplated. "Most likely a snake. Aside from all ze obvious personality comparisons, I like zer texture and facial structure."  
"You think they're cute, huh?" Mick said, glad to be able to tease back. Pierre looked away, sticking his nose in the air. "And what about it?"  
"Nothing, just...interesting."  
"You think I'm cute, huh?" Pierre teased impulsively. The second the words were out of his mouth both boys froze and turned white before blushing and turning away. There was a long span of silence, and just as it seemed it would go on forever there was the sound of Jane loudly farting from the other room. Mick snickered, then Pierre giggled, and then both boys started laughing together, awkward questions forgotten for the moment.

* * *

((Sorry again for taking so long to update this. This chapter has actually been sitting around incomplete for months, and I finally got inspiration to cobble together a chapter tonight. There might be errors or inconsistencies in this chapter because I haven't touched this fic in awhile, and for that I again apologize. I know it's been a year since I started writing this and so far there's only 6 chapters, but I promise I have at least 3 more chapters planned out and I will do my best to get them all written. I've told myself no more new writing projects until I finish my wips OTL.

As always have patience, I love writing but it's not always easy and I've been extremely devoid of inspiration for a very long time. I'm doing what I can, I promise.

I won't promise another chapter soon, but I will promise you that i WILL FINISH THIS FANFICTION. EVEN IF IT TAKES ME YEARS. I WILL FINISH THIS.

Thank you for your patience and I hope you enjoyed this chapter!))


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